


A Plague on Both Your Houses

by fleurs du mal (shinsou)



Series: cold blows the wind to my true love, and gently falls the rain [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, For One Of Them At Least lmao, Fuck Me I've Created a Monster, Mild Smut, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinsou/pseuds/fleurs%20du%20mal
Summary: A part of him still could not believe this happiness bestowing upon him. Renji had always thought he would never stand where he stood now, in this formal kimono by the altar, in front of the priest. He imagined himself among the guests, whispering soothing words to his heart as he watched his Captain give her hand to a man of noble birth who would make her happy. Later at the reception, he would ask her to dance with him after she had danced with her husband and her brother, and she would accept with a smile, leaving him a memory he would cherish for the rest of his days. Even in his bravest dreams, he did not dare to think he would be her husband.Not RenRuki, nor IchiRuki, tbh man, it's just sadness, despair and angst.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Attention all passengers: If you are a Renruki fan you're going to be saddened and infuriated with this fic; if you're an Ichiruki one - you're going to be deeply saddened and probably infuriated too, for different reasons tho. This can be read on its own but I think it's preferable to read as a companion piece with my fic Guinevere and Lancelot, because it has one paragraph that explains the sudden lack of resolve in Rukia and the blood on the inside of her wedding kimono. Excuse the strange wedding ceremony, I think I saw something similar on Game of Thrones and it felt fitting.  
> Also excuse my poor and pretentious vocabulary, awful grammar and the abuse of semicolon.  
> Shout out to my fam Shakespeare for providing me with inspiration to turn Renji into Mercutio. I actually fell in love with his character (Renji, not Mercutio, lmao) and I had a really bad time writing this, clutching my heart. So, be sad, enjoy and comment!

The soft sunset light painted his surroundings in warm tones to the quiet sound of birdsongs and the soft blow of the wind. Those colours and the warmth of the sun upon his skin always reminded him of her, of how her deep lavender eyes shone bright and clear in the light of the setting sun every evening so many years ago. He could never forget this one instance, shortly before they decided to become Shinigami. They were by the river again, trying to get the dirt off their kimonos. She had taken hers off, leaving her only with a light white undergarment that stuck to her pale skin where it was wet. He could not tear his eyes off her – she looked so innocent, her brows furrowed in concentration as she rubbed the kimono, completely ignorant of the water soaking its way into the white fabric. He just stood there, enchanted by the sunlight dancing on her skin and in awe of her power over him. It was then while they waited for their clothes to dry on the warm rocks when he realised he loved her in every way possible – as a friend, as a family but as a woman, as a lover; as a soulmate. It filled him with joy that he would live to see her face every evening until his death. Even then, his heart could burst and he would not notice if she was by his side; that much he loved her. 

Today was the day of Abarai Renji’s wedding.

He had always loved her. How could he not – she was kind but firm and serious, selfless and understanding, loyal and honest, very stubborn and a little bit strange that just added to her charm. And she was beautiful – the soft type of beauty that could easily go unnoticed to the eyes but never to the heart. It was a beauty you could feel, which hid in her eyes at sunset or in her tar-black feathery eyelashes in the dim light of a room at dusk. He was deemed worthy to take a bride from the noble Kuchiki family, worthy to be her husband. A part of him still could not believe this happiness bestowing upon him. Renji had always thought he would never stand where he stood now, in this formal kimono by the altar, in front of the priest. He imagined himself among the guests, whispering soothing words to his heart as he watched his Captain give her hand to a man of noble birth who would make her happy. Later at the reception, he would ask her to dance with him after she had danced with her husband and her brother, and she would accept with a smile, leaving him a memory he would cherish for the rest of his days. Even in his bravest dreams, he did not dare to think he would be her husband.

He had noticed a change in her during those 17 months during which he hardy saw her around; when he did, there were dark circles below her eyes and her fingers painted pictures on the window glass, leaving traces of frost. After Ichigo got his powers back, she seemed to seek the red-haired Shinigami companionship more than ever. It came as a surprise to him at first, almost if something was wrong but he never gave it a second thought. He was more than happy in her presence and he could not refuse her the intimacy of their friendship.

Then it all came tumbling down. Yhwach. They fought together and suffered together, side by side, as if inseparable. She became formidable, her reiatsu stronger than the reiatsu of some of the captains, as she held the feeble thin line between life and death in her hands with the responsibility of holding a weapon and the ease of holding a toy. After all the calamity, war, wounds and losses, today, finally, was their happy conclusion.

He had to remind his heart to beat when Rukia appeared. There she was – standing at the end of the yard, dressed in white embroidered silk, a crystal kanzashi swaying in her hair like a waterfall of ice. He felt a swarm of black butterflies captured in his stomach, a place too small for them and they desperately wanted to leave. Captain Kuchiki was holding her hand gently, leading her to him. _To him_. For a moment hatred washed over him for the thin small veil that obscured her pretty eyes but she would soon be close enough for him to meet her gaze through the delicate piece of cloth, close enough to remove it from her face and look into her amethyst eyes before they seal their mouths in a kiss as Mr. and Mrs. Abarai. Her steps were small but steady and confident even though she was probably weak from emotion just like he was, evident in the faint smile on her lips. 

Ages seemed to pass before he took her small hand in his with a nervous but tender smile, which she returned. The butterflies in his abdomen were going rampant but he ignored the feeling. Her presence calmed him like a quiet winter night. Renji’s mind was busy capturing every detail – the warm tones of the sunset, the priest’s deep voice, the feeling of her hand in his, the tinkle of her kanzashi as the wind blew colder and colder, the distant sound of thunder and the movement of her veil in his peripheral vision. The priest wrapped their hands with the red ribbon and pronounced them husband and wife. 

The birds were screaming. 

When he turned to face Rukia again her image struck him. The veil obscured her face in the same way another veil did when he escorted her to the Tower of Penitence. His hand grabbed the delicate fabric and tore it away more roughly than he should have, revealing her bloodless face, as if carved out of ivory. No. The butterflies in his stomach had turned to moths feeding on his flesh. _No_. This was wrong. She wore white on that other day too, when she was a prisoner. Rukia was meant to be happy but her eyes were full of melancholy. She looked so much like the picture Byakuya kept safe in his the drawer of his desk. Like a cursed woman doomed to die.

“You have to kiss me now.” Her words echoed. Have to. Renji wanted to let go of her, to call the wedding off but her cold hand was bound to his by the red ribbon. It was too late. He clenched his fist and cursed those _two_ noble houses. The thought of how he thanked _him_ for bringing Rukia back to him made him sick. For a moment, he found a strength in him that made it possible to believe she could learn to love him, not now, not today but in a year and he could make her happy. He leaned placed a chaste kiss on her lips. _Am I mad to think the moon could be happy with a stray dog?_   The moon belonged in the heavens, where she could illumine the night, not in his hands where she turned to bone and dust.

The rain splashed over them shortly before they entered the manor, the grey clouds drowning the beautiful colours of the sunset. His every step was unstable and sudden, as if the ground shifted up and down beneath his feet. How could she be so calm? He knew that serenity well; he had seen it before. It was not serenity. It was acceptance.

The reception passed like in a dream. Once more Rukia proved the stronger of them. All that Renji seemed to do was drink and stare into his cup while she took care of the guests, laughing with them about his behaviour, passing it off as every groom’s fear of marriage. She joked that even if he had regrets it was too late now. Her laughter echoed hollow, as if she was glad it was too late now and she had sealed her fate, but none of them could tell. Byakuya certainly knew the truth and hid it well behind his noble expressionless face while still allowing this to happen. He would say that this is a family affair. She had mastered the same absence of expression that made them both look distant and timeless. The red-haired man could feel his hand balling into a fist despite the glass that he was holding. If only he was stronger back then when he fought _him_. He cursed both these noble houses – if only Renji had won. Or if only he had died.

By the time they were escorted to their bedroom chamber the rain had turned into a storm. An invisible hand was gripping his throat and perhaps he drank too much. The door behind them closed and they were left alone with the sound of the downpour. He had to hear the truth he knew was going to stab him with a thousand knives.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do, Renji.” Her words were gentle, like a mother comforting her child.

“Do you love me like I love you?” Rukia remained silent and went on to untie her obi. The long silk piece of cloth began to pool at her feet.

“Stop.” She dropped the fabric to the floor and unwrapped her kimono, uncovering her bare body. “Stop it!” he shouted but his voice was weak. Rukia walked to the bed and let the silk garment slide off her skin and onto the covers. Her body was marked with fresh bruises that stood out against her pale complexion. The rain seemed to pound terribly against the windows as if every raindrop was a fist.

“You have to.” Her naked body was left to the cold air but it was he that trembled when he crawled to her and she touched him so gently he wanted to cry. She felt so fragile beneath his large palms, so cold as if made from ice and he was afraid she was going to melt beneath him; and he did not want to touch her, not like this, not now when she did not love him. He refused to be an accomplice to her murder. He had to stop, to never consummate this marriage, to annul it even if this enrages the Kuchikis, even if it makes Rukia hate him. Renji climbed upon the bed with her, his mind refusing to acknowledge the blood staining the inside of her kimono.

“You have to.” He had to. As if she could read his thoughts. Renji had to take her, he had to complete the marriage, he had to watch her suffer silently, he had to watch her pretend to be the most happy. He cursed those two noble houses. He could not be an accomplice in her murder – she had already taken care of it all by herself.

The wind outside was howling, sounding like a distant scream. She did not love him but perhaps she desired him. His mind clutched at the thought like a drowning man would clutch at a straw. He had to do just this much for her. Renji kissed her tenderly and tried to ignore the taste of metal, of blood and poison that filled his mouth. A sweet poison but just as lethal.

Rukia helped him take off his clothes. He hated himself, his weak body and spirit, but she guided him and welcomed him inside of her. He had never imagined it would be like this – almost forceful ( _he had to_ ), full of hopelessness and devoid of happiness; he should have kissed and caressed her for hours before he finally takes her, moments before sunrise. Renji stopped, careful not to hurt her further than she already hurt and stroked her face, trying to soothe at least the pain he caused her. He knew every other pain was beyond his control. His own did not matter; it would do though. It was enough to kill.

She urged him to move and he did. Her cold hands rested on the nape of his neck, her thumbs gently holding his face up by supporting his jaw as she stared into his eyes. He wished she would just close her eyes, just for a second and pretend it’s someone else in his place, that it’s _him_ in his place. But Rukia was never one to try to escape from reality – she always met it chest first, as a heart would meet a bullet. Renji cursed their noble houses.

His movements were becoming erratic and heat was pooling in his loins. He began to straighten his body, ready to pull his member out and spend himself on her stomach but she locked her ankles behind his back. Her breathing was laboured, her cheeks a deep shade of crimson, her short hair was sprawled like a halo of darkness on the white pillow and her cold fingertips brushed his jaw with a tenderness that made him feel like he would shatter to a million pieces. Renji cried out her name and fell apart in her arms, cradling her body as if he could hold her tight enough to glue the pieces of her soul back together.  Her hand ran through his red hair, untangling some of the strands in the manner in which ghosts consoled their loved ones upon leaving. A manner, which said, “Do no grieve.” However, he did grieve not for himself, but for her and he always would. Love was a curse.

A plague on both their houses.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't do happy.


End file.
